


Imagine you’re the oldest child of a king

by imagineyourepregnant



Category: Original Work
Genre: Birth Fetish, Breeding Kink, Dubious Consent, Fpreg, Master/Slave, Mpreg, Other, labor fetish, multiples pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineyourepregnant/pseuds/imagineyourepregnant
Summary: Imagine you’re the oldest child of a king in a country that’s just been conquered by a far more powerful empire. And as part of the spoils of war, he takes you.





	Imagine you’re the oldest child of a king

**Author's Note:**

> Original post: http://imagineyourepregnant.tumblr.com/post/140917735534/imagine-youre-the-oldest-child-of-a-king-in-a

Imagine you’re the oldest child of a king in a country that’s just been conquered by a far more powerful empire. And as part of the spoils of war, he takes you.

When you’re taken to his grand palace, you’re determined to hate him forever. You never go a moment without making it clear that you despise him. Even when you submit to him in bed you do it with resentment. Even when you find yourself orgasming again and again you pretend you didn’t like it.

Very quickly, you’re pregnant. With his heirs. Plural. The imperial physicians say they can hear at least three hearts beating. You don’t know how to feel about it. Some part of you still has your pride and can’t stand it. Some part of you don’t quite mind at all.

In public you proclaim that you hate him still. You say the cruelest nastiest things. You even say you hate his children and hope something bad happens to them.

In private you feel so guilty and you can’t stop yourself rubbing your stomach, always nervous if they haven’t kicked in a while.

The emperor, to punish you for your spitefulness, has you collared around the neck and chained to the floor next to his throne, gagged, your hands chained so you can’t lift them to remove the gag. You’re now allowed to wear anything preserving your modesty. You sit on a cushion, at the top of the stairs on the dais, by his side as a living symbol of his dominance and power.

Months and months go by, and every day as he hears petitions and reports in this throne room, you sit there on your cushion. Everyone stares at you, everyone stares at your enormous belly. He even allows some people the privilege of feeling your belly, and feeling the babies inside of you kick and move.

You go into labor one day sitting on that cushion and he seems unbothered by your muffled cries as you endure horrible, painful contractions. The hours that pass feel like years while you labor, pulling at your chains. He continues to conduct his business, smiling and accepting the congratulations of all who see you about to give birth.

You manage to get to your knees only to have your water break in a gush between your legs just as the first head descends and puts pressure on you. You’re terrified and hyperventilating as you sit with your legs spread, knowing you don’t have long. You think you might pass out from it all, the fear and the pain.

And that’s when he quietly gets off his throne, kneels behind you and unchains you. He takes off the gag and you immediately thank him. You lay back against him and he very gently soothes you, tells you to be calm. He rubs your stomach between contractions, tells you what a good job you’re doing and it’ll all be worth it. You hardly notice that you’re giving birth in front of half the court, because all you can focus on is him and giving birth to his heirs.


End file.
